


Steady As She Goes (are you steady now)

by teshumai



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Buffalo Sabres, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Homophobic Slurs, Internalized Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 14:24:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8986477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teshumai/pseuds/teshumai
Summary: Sam knew what his future was supposed to look like, then Jack showed up.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blueorangecrush](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueorangecrush/gifts).



> why hello my darling, my dear BOC, i'd give you three guesses who this is but I bet you only need one. You said you wanted something along these lines a while ago so i hope i was able to do it a little justice. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you to my friends who held my hand and checked my grammar.
> 
>  
> 
> And finally the unpleasant reality stuff, this fic feature Jack Eichel in a sympathetic role he doesn't deserve so if you are choosing not to engage with him anymore I would encourage you to give this a miss. And BOC, I could never quite gage your feelings on the subject if you don't want this story anymore I will write you something new, I love writing for you and I want you to like it.

Sam is eleven and Griffin brings him along to this party--a co-ed party without parents. Just showing up felt like getting away with something. And there’s a game of truth or dare. It’s pretty tame compared to the games Sam would be involved with in juniors. At this age though being dared to kiss a boy is pretty much the height of gross sex humor. It’s Sam’s turn and Lauren dares him to kiss Nick. Nick isn’t that much to look at, even for a twelve year old. He’s got sandy blonde hair that’s a little too long and keeps falling over his eyes and braces with green bands and acne across his cheeks. He’s nice though, and funny, and Sam likes playing with him at the ice center. Sam looks forward to it, with a little twist of something extra when he sees Nick sitting in the usual spot.

He leans across the little circle and presses his lips against Nick’s. It’s awkward, more of a smush then the kind of romantic kiss Sam’s seen in the movies and it only lasts a few seconds before Nick is pushing Sam away and wiping his mouth.

“Ew, gross.”

Sam flips him off and knows he’s in trouble because gross isn’t even close to the word he would have used.

Sam knows what he is, and he knows what he can be. No one has to spell it out for him, he gets it. Dan can’t come over to play _Call of Duty_ and Griffin groans, “ugh, gay,” and Sam gets it. Connor isn’t sure about sneaking into a bar and Jackson rolls his eyes, “God don’t be such a fag,” and Sam gets it. USA number Forty-Nine crouches across the face-off dot, “hey Twenty-Three, how about you suck my cock,” and Sam gets it. But he’s been dominating Forty-Nine in the face-off circle all night and he doesn’t really give a shit about some USHL kid who’s never gonna make it. 

“I don’t think your cock’s gonna be big enough to satisfy me.”

Forty-Nine fumbles on the drop and Sam wins another draw. 

Canada takes gold.

\--

Sam’s just starting to feel the effects of the alcohol they’d snuck into the hotel room, liberally mixing it with coke and pouring it over ice that constantly needed refilling. He figures the same must be happening in the American’s rooms because the boy who told him to suck his cock almost bumps into him in the tiny room that houses the vending and ice machines. 

Forty-Nine shifts uneasily from foot to foot while he waits on Sam to finish filling his bucket. He runs his finger along the edge of his own container and bites his lips, looking at Sam through his pale lashes before dropping his eyes. “Hey, um, about earlier, what I said, during the game you know, I mean, have-have you, you know,” he moves his head to imply the “have you sucked dick” question he apparently can’t say.

Sam still remembers Nick’s face as he’d pushed Sam away and told him kissing boys was gross. Sam can draw it up on his own face easily, the exact wrinkle of his nose and curl of his lips. “Of course not.”

“Yeah, of course,” Forty-Nine repeats and he shifts again. Sam should leave it at that, but the guy had almost sounded hurt at Sam’s dismissal and if he is, if he might be, like Sam...it’s breathless rush, this feeling of maybe not being entirely alone for once and Sam can’t just walk away. 

“Why, have you?” He choses the words carefully, knows just how to twist them to become a knife if he needs too.

“Don’t be stupid.” Forty-Nine mumbles, arms crossed tight over his chest. He really needs to get better at lying, because it’s pretty clear that even if he hasn’t actually gone down on a guy he sure as hell thought about it. Sam knows he should walk away, but he’s in this tiny room far away from his team-most of whom he barely sees during the year-across the world from the people who matter with just enough corner store vodka to make his lips feel tingly. He leans closer and watches the way Forty-Nine’s eyes drop to his lips for a second, the way his breath catches. Sam knows that look. He’s lain on Max’s bed listening him talk about whatever girl he thinks was hitting on Sam at the latest party and imagined someone he actually wanted to kiss looking at him just like that. It’ll be ok, just this once. Sam probably won’t see this guy again, not for a year at least and Sam doesn’t recognize him, he’s not in the WHL, possibly, probably, not in the CHL at all. Sam’s pretty sure he’s right in his assumption that the guys a USHL product.

He leans closer, brushes his lips across the guy’s and feels as much as hears the sharp inhale and the pressure of hands on his chest. He’s already bracing for the shove, everything in his body prepped to be sent backwards, ready to stay on his feet, ready for a fight. Forty-Nine drags him closer and Sam stumbles. He lurches forward knocking Forty-Nine against the wall, their ice buckets clattering to the floor. Forty-Nine bites at his lip and slides his tongue past Sam’s and it’s exactly like the kind of kisses he’s seen in the movies. 

He steps back. There is a big open door behind him and people waiting for them. Forty-Nine is still leaning against the wall breathing like he just finished a shift. Truth be told, he’s sort of a funny looking kid, horrible acne and a disaster of tight dirty blonde curls on his head, but his lips are bitten red and the blue of his eyes are thin ring around the wide pupils and Sam did that and that’s kind of hot by itself.

Sam picks up his bucket and starts filling it back up with ice. 

“Why’d you stop?” Forty-Nine asks.

“Someone will come looking for ice if we don’t get back soon.” Sam points out.

“Right.” Forty-Nine picks up his own bucket. “I’ll see you in January though, right?”

“You’re gonna be at Juniors?” Sam wants to laugh. This guy barely played six minutes in a game at the under eighteen level, no way he’s taking some twenty year olds place. 

“Absolutely” Forty-Nine says without hesitation. 

“Sure, see you then.” Sam says and doesn’t look back when he leaves.

\--

By January Forty-Nine’s name is on everyone’s lips, Jack Eichel, taking American hockey by storm. Little more than a year ago he was one of hundreds whose name would probably be forgotten. Now he’s possibly the best player America has seen in a decade. --

They meet again in Malmo. Canada and America are in the same division this time so Sam gets to face off against him for three games instead of just the one.

“What are you doing tonight?” Eichel asks during their second game. Sam is a second too late and Eichel wins the draw. Sam doesn’t look back at Griffin just over his right shoulder. It’s not really an incriminating question. No one probably heard him anyways. Sam just has to not react. He can not react to Eichel. It’s not like anything big happened, really, it was just a kiss. It’s not like he’s going to let anything happen again. Not here. Not with Griffin a room away. It’s awesome that Griffin is here, really. Sam is excited he actually gets to play with him for once. Partially because he won’t be intercepting all of Sam’s passes but mostly because Sam misses him. There was a time when Griffin couldn’t go anywhere without Sam tagging along. If Griffin minded he never let on. Then he was drafted to Edmonton and Sam was alone for the first time. He ended up with Max, but it’s different. Max has always been the big brother, watching out for them. Griffin was his best friend. Max waited in line at the mall with Sam so he could sit in Santa’s lap, Griffin recruited him help find where mom and dad hid the presents “from Santa.” Sam doesn’t think he can lie to him, so he has to make sure there is nothing to lie about. 

It would have been nice to win with Griffin, to have that together. He missed his chance to win the Memorial with Max and he in the end he couldn’t even medal with Griffin. So they go drown their disappointment instead.

One of the big difference between Malmo and Sochi is almost everyone is over the drinking age instead of under so the end of tournament pity party could spill out into clubs and bars instead of staying locked up in a hotel room. It’s just bad luck than that Eichel and the Americans are at the same club as the Canadians. Sam was not hoping to see him, that would be stupid. Eichel is pretty much the last person Sam wants to see. His brother is right next to him, pointing out girls he should talk to and with every flash of the strobe Sam can see Eichel on the dance floor. He makes the mistake of looking. In the next flash Eichel is looking back and moving closer.

“I have to--bathroom” Sam say moving away, pushing through the crowd of people. He can’t be standing next to Griffin when Eichel gets to him. Griffin will know. He’ll take one look at Sam and know. He’s always known everything about Sam, brothers and best friends with no secrets, except this one, and Sam has to keep it that way. 

Eichel glides up to him. “Hey,” he almost has to shout to be heard over the music.

“Hey.” Sam nods back. 

Jack leans in, his lips almost brushes against Sam’s ear, “Do you want to get out of here?”

Over Eichel’s shoulder Sam can see Griffin has moved to the dance floor, his hand on a girl’s waist. He can see Davo and Eks in a back booth laughing at something Laz is saying, no one paying any attention to him. No one would probably notice if he left right now. The thought bubbles up giddy with possibility-no one would know if he just disappeared with Eichel. 

“Okay.” Sam wraps his hand around Eichel’s wrist and pulls him out the door behind him before he thinks better of it. 

They stumble out in the cold night and Sam’s barely got them out of sight of the door before Eichel is pulling Sam in, his lips warm against Sam’s. Sam leans into it, want to get lost in that heat. There’s a burst of sound from the club and Sam pulls back. 

“Hold on.” Sam breathes, the air between them fogging up. He grabs Eichel’s hand and pulls him across the street and down one of the dark alleys that branch off. Halfway down when the shadows of the building have completely covered them Sam stops and pulls Eichel back into his arms. Eichel comes easily, walking Sam with his hand on his hips until Sam’s back hits the brick wall. The alley smells vaguely like fish and Sam shouldn’t be noticing that or finding it funny, but he can’t seem to stop himself from smiling against Eichel’s mouth. 

His hands slip under Eichel’s shirt and he feels Eichel’s stomach muscles jump against his fingertips. He does it again, brushing his fingers against Eichel’s hip so lightly it’s almost just his nails. Eichel squirms a little against him.

“Jack?” Sam asks. His lips moving around the name for the first time, unfamiliar with it’s shape.

“Yeah,” Jack breathes back.

“Are you ticklish?” Sam digs his fingers into Jack’s side until he’s doubled over, squirming and laughing and shoving at Sam’s hands until he’s got a grip on his wrist, dragging them out from under his shirt and holding them against the wall, pressed close to Sam. He’s panting and flushed and smiling.

“You’re a jerk.” 

“Yeah,” Sam grins. “What you gonna do about it?” he asks, biting at his lip in invitation.

“I’ll think of something,” Jack says before kissing Sam again. It’s slow and deep and Sam’s knees feel like jelly and the wall at his back the only thing keeping him upright as Jack’s hands on his wrists go lax and slip away. One comes up to cup his cheek and the other to curl around his waist. Sam’s hands follow of their own accord, drifting up to curl around Jack’s shoulders. 

Jack’s mouth slides off of Sam’s and makes it way across his jaw to his neck, biting softly at the skin just below his ear. 

“Hey Sam,” Jack says and Sam shivers as Jack’s breathe moves across his neck. “Are you?”

That’s all the warning Sam gets before Jack is blowing a raspberry against neck and his fingers press into Sam’s side. Sam tries to squirm away but he’s trapped between the wall, Jack’s mouth, and his hands and he’s can’t stop laughing long enough to do anything about it. 

The sun is rising when they finally find their way back to the hotel.

Sam has barely drifted to sleep before Griffin is bouncing on his bed. “Sammy, where have you been all night?” 

There’s a burst of panic in Sam’s chest that jolts him awake. He wasn’t supposed to do this here. Griffin knows he’s been gone all night. Griffin could have seen who he left the bar with. Griffin could know, could know what Sam is, what Sam wants. It’s a gut wrenching terror mixed with this lightheaded relief because if Griffin figured it out, if he knows, it won’t be this terrible secret anymore. 

“Uh,” Sam’s brain stutters to find some plausible excuse, some reason that isn’t making out with Jack. 

Griffin smirks, “You went home with a local girl didn’t you. You player.”

“Yeah,” Sam swallows, “yeah, that’s where I was.” 

Griffin laughs and tussles Sam’s hair, “Go back to sleep big man, I’ll save you some breakfast.”

The door clicks closed behind him and Sam curls under the heavy blanket. His secret is safe. He’s relieved. He is. He focuses on that. The whisper that was hoping to get caught doesn’t deserve his attention.

\--

Sam blinks and it’s the combine, the end of the year flying by in a blur of hockey. It’s sort of a relief that Sam doesn’t have time to think. He doesn’t have time to do anything stupid, barely a minute to himself and no one whispering in his ear, “Do you want to get out of here?” Sam carefully avoids looking too closely at the memory of that night. He doesn’t think about Jack’s lips or hands on his skin. It’s ok to think about boys sometimes, when Sam’s alone, as long as he’s not thinking of _A_ boy, as long as there is no face to go with the fantasy, no high pitched giggle or subtle accent with softened ‘r’s. He should stop making these small concessions to himself. They just make it easier to give in the next thing. He can’t seem to actually do it though. It’s like the first kiss with Jack opened a door to temptation or some shit like that and Sam can’t get it all the way closed again.

Max and Griffin both warned him about the combine, about all the interviews and how that was the worst part by far. His dad spent hours working with him, teaching him the trick in a good handshakes and eye contact and not saying um, or bouncing his leg and then he walks into the first room and faces six guys gathered around a table tapping away on nine computers and Joe fucking Sakic sitting on a couch fiddling with his phone and Sam feels completely unprepared. It’s kind of a blur afterwards, with a highlight reel of surreal moments that include bonding with Yzerman about hating sled runs and telling Murray that even though he literally just sold himself as a composed player who doesn’t take penalties he can totally get angry and take penalties if his team needs him to. 

He went into the day so sure that he was heading to Buffalo. He been talking to the scout and director of player personnel for most of the year, now he’s pretty sure Murray hates him. Buffalo had been expected to pick first overall, and they had a franchise defenseman in Ristolinian. The only forward going this year that could match Sam was Benny and though their stats were almost identical, Sam had the legacy that all of Benny’s goals can’t match. It sounds kind of dickish when put like that, but it was still true. Now he’s not so sure. Maybe Benny managed to get the answer right. 

Ecks drops down next to Sam against the wall. “Fucking hell.”

“Shh,” Sam presses a finger to his lips, “no more talking today.”

Ecks nods and slumps down. They sit in blissful silence for a minute until Ecks tips his head to the side. 

“It’s you or me, eh?”

“And Benny,” Sam reminds him. 

“You finally admitting Benny’s better than you?”

“Maybe,” Sam smiles, “maybe I was saying he was better than you.”

“Jerk,” Ecks shoves Sam. “What if we all just quit hockey, and moved to like Antarctica where no one will ever ask us how we deal with a slump again.” 

Sam laughs and shoves an imaginary microphone in Eck’s face. “Tell me Mr. Ekblad, do you consider yourself a leader in the room? What about on the ice? Are you a team player? Or are you a team Leader? Are you selfish with the puck? Do you pass _too_ much would you say? Remember, be honest we want to get to know you and there are no wrong answers except of course for all the answers that aren’t the one we wanted to hear.”

Ecks swats away Sam’s hand with a laugh, “Come on, I got beer in my room.”

“I love your old man face.” Sam says pushing himself up and following Ecks upstairs.

\--

The draft goes pretty much the way they expected. Florida takes Ecks and Buffalo takes Sam. Sam smiles at the cameras that circle him for next 3 hours and when they ask he tells the truth, “I wanted it to be Buffalo.”

When they finally release him his family is waiting. Griffin pulls him in under his arm, “There’s our boy.”

His dad lays a hand on his shoulder. “We’re so proud of you.”

Sam is overflowing. He hasn’t stopped smiling, he can’t. He knew what was going to happen, but somehow it still doesn’t feel real, not like a dream, but like this is some else’s life, like a movie where the script is a little to neat to be believable. He can’t feel his legs, he’s floating vaguely aware of their existence but the ground never seems to touch him. He can’t taste dinner, he assumes it’s good, but everything just sort of tastes like Tim Murray calling his name. It’s pretty great taste though.

\--

Sam makes it though prospects camp. He doesn’t shine but he doesn’t struggle more than anyone else. He makes it through training camp. He doesn’t shine and he only doesn’t struggle more than other rookie invites. Compared to the team and the free agents auditioning for a spot Sam clearly struggles. He makes it through though. He slips on his official Buffalo Sabres jersey and skates on to First Niagara Ice. The crowd sounds like a roar, louder then the Memorial Cup game, louder than world juniors. The only thing louder in the world is the sound of Sam’s heart beating when they say his name.

The game starts. It rushes past. He’s over boards for his first shift and a step behind at every turn. He gets one good look all game and misses by a mile. It feels like every three seconds he’s out of position again. He barely gets the puck and when he does half the time his pushed off it. In short he does not have a good first showing and they lose to the Jackets. He doesn’t have a good second showing or third. If he doesn’t turn it around soon he’s not going last. He gets a secondary assist seven games in. It’s his first point. It’s not enough. Murray calls him into the office after the ninth game. Sam already knows what’s coming.

It’s not as bad as he thinks. The room is full of people, almost as many as were at his draft interview, Murray, Nolan, Long, Allaire, and Charlebois all sitting around table with a folder overflowing with papers.

“You did fine,” Murray says, with a rare smile. “You did better then we expected. We wanted you to have taste of what it takes to play in this league so you’ll be ready next year.”

Sam nods, “Ok, I will be.”

“I know,” Murray hands over the folder. “You got the vision and the skill already, we’re not worried about your hockey. What we want to do with you is get your body to the point where it can execute that vision at the highest level. We’ve got training programs and diet plans that will help you get to where you need to be. We’re going over the whole thing now, so you can ask any questions. If anything comes up, if you have more questions on anything at any time, call me.”

Sam nods again, “Ok.”

“Great, let’s start.” 

\--

Sam’s dad picks him up at the airport to drive him up to Cranbrook for the rest of his season. 

“I’m really proud of you,” his dad says about twenty minutes into the drive. “You did really well.”

“Not good enough,” Sam sulks.

“So you’ll work harder and try again next year.” His dad says, and Sam tries to let it go. He’s not the first person in world to be sent back down. Max and Griffin both played in juniors until the end of their eligibility and his dad probably said the same thing to them every year. He probably called them both three weeks ago and said the same thing. Sam is being a spoiled brat, sulking over the fact that he got sent down when he’s got a chance to play in the NHL in his first year. 

Sam doesn’t say anything for a few miles, just watches the trees blur past.

“What if I’m never good enough?” He asks, he figures his dad has an answer to this too, well practiced on Max and Griffin.

“Then you’ll love playing in the AHL or you’ll go to Europe and your mom and I will wake up at 3 in the morning to watch you play. It doesn’t matter who you play for as long as you're happy.”

Sam swallows, that’s a pretty good answer. It’s not like he really thought his dad would say if you don’t play in the NHL we’ll never talk to you again but it’s surprising good to hear that is doesn’t matter anyways. Sam doesn’t think he’d be happy or satisfied with the AHL so that means he has to get better. 

“You watched my games?” Sam asks, changing tracks.

“I did.” His father says.

“Well?” Sam asks.

“Well?” His dad parrots back to him.

“Well, what do I need to do better?” Sam asks

“Don’t you have coaches telling you this now?” His dad asks 

“Yeah, but I want to know what you think, you always have something no else saw.” Which is true but Sam also just wants the comforting familiarity of talking hockey with his dad as they drive north.

“Now you’re just trying to butter up your old man.” His dad says with smile

“Please, Dad.”

“Alright, first we got to get you a skating coach, you’re good enough you should be skating circles around those guys, so we’ll work on that.”

Sam settles back in his seat and listens to his dad talk hockey. 

\--

World juniors comes back around again. It’s been a year since Jack held him still against a brick wall and sucked on his neck until Sam was whimpering jello clinging to Jack. Since Sam leaned against that cold wall and dragged Jack down to lick his eyebrow and laugh as Jack pulled back with an indignant squeak. Since Jack held his hand as they wandered around the early morning streets trying to find their way back to the hotel. Not that Sam’s been thinking about it.

There will definitely be no hooking up this time. IIHF ensured that by having the games in Canada. Sam’s whole family will be there: his parents, his grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, you name it they are descending on Toronto to watch Sam’s (hopefully) last junior appearance. Jack’s family will probably be there too, Sam assumes. 

Sam faces off against Jack most of their game. Wins most of those face offs too. He ends up facing the top lines of a lot of teams and he’s winning face offs and scoring goals and Canada keeps winning and winning. He’s hugging Duke 25 seconds into the gold medal game against Russia, up one before a minute is out. He can feel it, he’s felt it all tournament. It’s that little something extra kicking through his veins and maybe it’s playing for the home crowd, or his family taking up a whole section or the weight of an upcoming draft no longer hanging over him, or maybe it’s just all the extra skating and training he’s been doing, but he’s flying. He’s untouchable. Canada wins. Sam lifts the cup and bends his head for the gold medal. 

He hooks up with Jack. 

He wins gold and he sees Jack in the hotel lobby and he doesn’t think, he just does it. He won _gold._ He wants-he deserves- to have this. He grabs Jack’s hand and practically drags him into the empty stairwell and kisses him like he doesn’t need to breathe ever again. 

“Hey,” Jacks says between kisses. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Sam bites his lip in response. Jack makes a noise and his grip on Sam’s hair tightens so Sam does it again sliding his hands under Jack’s shirt.

They can’t actually stay there for long, it’s only about two minutes of taking what he so desperately wants from Jack before his phone is buzzing with people looking for him. 

It’s almost painful to pull away. “I have to,” he says gesturing with his phone to the door and Jack nods, lips red and shirt shoved halfway up chest. Sam steps back again if only to stop himself from falling back into Jack. He’s hand is on the door when Jack gets his voice back.

“Buffalo, right?” Jack says from behind him.

“What?” Sam asks turning back.

“That’s where you’re going to be next year?” Jack clarifies

“Probably.” It’s probably, always probably, stay positive but don’t ever assume anything.

“Then that’s where I’ll be.” Jack says, tilting up his chin like he’s daring Sam to argue.

“I think they’re planning on Davo.” Sam says because somehow that hadn’t occurred to him, that Jack might be on his team one day. That wasn’t supposed to be possible. Jack was never supposed to be a reoccurring thing, let alone a fixture, a teammate. He knows that Jack is good, that the McDavid vs. Eichel story has been slowly gaining steam and he’s likely to go in the top three of this years draft. He knows that the Sabres have had a shit year so far and things don’t look to be getting any better. He just never connected the two. Jack might be his teammate. 

Jack lips crack in a wide smile, “Not once they’ve seen what I can do.” 

\--

Jack is good for his word, dominating Hockey East like no one before him and the murmur that he might be real competition for McDavid becomes a roar, fanned by the fact that Jack either never learned or doesn't care to play the media game. When a reporter asks if he wants to go number one, instead of the self effacing I'm just happy to play that Sam and Ecks, Davo and Strome all perfected. Jack looks at him like he's an idiot, “Of course I want to go first.” 

Word gets around, Jack thinks he's better than McDavid. Jack says he’s the best player in the draft. Jack think McDavid isn’t all that great. Jack wins the frozen four, wins the Hobey Baker, gets trashed and tells a blurry cellphone camera, “Buffalo I’m coming for you.” Sam watches and remembers Jack in Toronto, and the absolute confidence he had when he said he’d be in Buffalo with Sam next year. Sam doesn’t know if he hopes all of Jack’s effort pays off or not.

Sam gets invited to Rochester for the playoffs. That’s where he is the night of lottery when a Buffalo reporter asks him if he’d rather play with McDavid or Eichel. Well they ask if he would like to have McDavid as teammate in Buffalo, which is half digging for dirt on Davo and half asking him to weigh in on the McDavid or Eichel debate since it’ll be unofficially decided tonight which one Buffalo gets. Sam’s been playing this game with Griffin and Max for years. He knows how to answer these questions, how to balance his words so no one comes out looking worse than anyone else. 

He isn’t supposed to know Jack anyways, as far as anyone knows they’ve never spoken. So all he has to do is say that. All he has to do is say, “I loved playing with Davo in Toronto, we had fun together.” There’s nothing you can take from that to use against Jack, but he’s still got that picture of Jack lips, puffy and red from Sam’s teeth on them saying, “That’s where I’ll be” and it’s too much of what Sam wants and can’t have. 

He puts on his most earnest smile, like he doesn’t know how this is going to be used. “You know Davo, most people know what kind of player he is but he's a better guy in the locker room, a humble guy, which is my view is more important,” Sam says and what he means, what everyone will think he means, is “not like Eichel.” His feels guilty for it almost immediately afterwards. Sam doesn’t actually know Jack well, but he knows he’s being unfair. Even if Jack was everything the worst rumors say it still would be unfair of Sam to do that to him, and Jack’s not like that. Jack is...Jack’s honest. Too honest maybe, but Sam’s a little envious that no one ever managed to make Jack think he should to be anyone but himself. 

Buffalo loses the lottery and that means Jack. Jack in the same place as him, not just for a few days, but for months, years probably. Sam is an idiot, is the biggest idiot in the world, he should never have kissed Jack in Sochi, should have told him to get lost in Malmo, shouldn’t have sought him out in Toronto. The person Sam could be with Jack in a few stolen moments isn’t the person Sam can be all the time. The things he allows himself in Jack’s presence aren’t things he can have. It’s was alright when it was once a year, far away from their real lives. This is real now. They have to work together. They have to see each other every day. Jack was never supposed to follow Sam home. 

\--

Day One of development camp is tests and equipment check out and more tests. He gets picked up from the airport and they disappear with his bag and take him and the rest of the West Coast players he flew in with to the rink. He doesn’t see Jack all day. He tries not to look for him. They’ll be plenty of time to feel weird about Jack later. Eventually everyone ends up in the big room above the rink for dinner. Jack is there. He’s holding court at one of the tables. Sam never actually seen Jack in this sort of locker roomish setting, surrounded by friends. Sam doesn’t put too much stalk in the media buzz words, like intangibles and leadership, but every now and then he sees someone who reminds him it’s not all just buzzwords. Jack is youngest guy, one of the newest and the room is already rearranging itself to orbit around his sun. And it’s clear in way the Boston guys look at him and the way he looks at them that it’s not just because he’s biggest and brightest star, it’s because orbiting him means you get to share in his warmth and light. 

They claim the rooming assignments are random, but Sam is skeptical. It seems pretty coincidental that the two top prospects are rooming together. Maybe if Risto or Zi was here it’d seem a little less purposeful, but with the group they have, Sam knows where they’re pinning their hopes. He knows what they’re pinning their hopes on, on Jack and Sam becoming friends, generating that chemistry that propels good linemates to great. If he was in charge he’d do the same thing. The doesn’t help Sam though. He can’t exactly go up to his new coach and say “Sorry can’t room with Jack, we made out at worlds and now it’s awkward, but in my defense I really thought you’d be drafting McDavid.” Sam has to suck it up. He’s going to have to be better now, for real, no more boys. This is his punishment, he broke most basic of rules and now he has to fix it. That plan last about as long as it takes for him to actually see Jack. 

Jack looks up from his phone and smiles and Sam’s heart does a thing, a weird jumpy squeezy thing.

“I told you I’d get here,” Jack says, standing up. 

Sam’s heart does that thing again. He’s supposed to be putting a stop this, he had a plan. He had the vague outline of a plan, okay he had a goal with no real plan but either way the sort of goal/plan thing does not include offering Jack a reward for being right.

“I’m pretty sure you said you’d do it by going first overall,” Sam replies.

“You misheard,” Jack says, stepping closer, “I meant I would rig the lottery.”

“Ah,” Sam bites his lip, but he can’t stop the smile. “How supervillain of you.”

“That’s me, Darth Jack,” Jack says and he’s so close now Sam could touch him. That’s bad, because he wants to. He wants so much and he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t. There are reasons, he had all sorts of reasons why this was a bad idea and and Jack is right there, with his stupid excited smile and dumb jokes and Sam can’t stop. He’s so fucking weak and he’s reaching out for Jack, pulling him down. Sometime between Russia and now Jack finally surpassed Sam in inches and muscles and his hand on Sam’s hip feels huge as he tugs Sam away from the door and moves him towards the bed. 

Sam goes easily. They end up on the bed and Sam wriggles up towards the headboard as Jack follows, biting little kisses to his lips. His hand slides up under Sam’s shirt, running up over his stomach and fingers brushing against the bottom of his ribcage before changing direction and sliding down down down over the elastic of Sam’s shorts and then his hand is on Sam’s cock. 

It's like lightning. It’s like fireworks. It’s so, so, so good. No one's ever got a hand on Sam before, well except the awful embarrassing party when he was still in Cranbrook and Monica, who always let him copy her physics homework, had slipped her hand down well they were making out at a party and no matter how much Sam tried he couldn't get hard for her. In the end he'd mumbled something about whiskey dick and made his escape. 

It's not like that with Jack, just kissing Jack is enough to get him weak kneed and desperate for more. And this is like overdrive. It’s too much and not enough and Sam can't think, can't breath and Jack is leaning over him, covering him, and it's so much. It’s everything. All Sam has never meant to want this much right here. 

“Wait, wait,” he scrambles pushing Jack’s arm away. 

“Sorry, sorry, what did I do? I'm sorry,” Jack says nearly falling off the bed, eyes wide and for once he looks unsure, like maybe this is as new to him as it is to Sam. It helps, oddly, to have Jack sitting next to him biting his lip, looking to Sam for direction. Sam can do this. Sam can follow through. He will end this--whatever, this situational hook-ups thing that he accidentally started with Jack. They’re teammates now, their going to be teammates for a long time if things work out. They can be friends. They _will_ be friends, and that’s it. This isn’t some foriegn hotel room, this is their home and they can’t mess it up with unnecessary complications.

“We can't do this any more.” Sam says.

“But, we’re finally together.” Jack says.

“Yeah, as teammates,” Sam emphasises. “That means we have to be professional, we’re going to be spending almost everyday together. We can’t just fool around, we have to actually like each other-”

“I like you,” Jack interrupts.

“You barely know me.” Sam points out. 

Jack stares at Sam for a moment before nodding. “Okay, what’s your favorite color?”

“What?” Sam frowns thrown by the shift in conversation.

“You’re right, we don’t really know each other, and like you said, we’re teammates, we should be friends.”

Sam nods, he did say that, that what he wanted it feels off though, like Jack is giving in to easy, like he’s playing Sam somehow.

“So what’s your favorite color?” Jack presses.

“Green.” Sam answers slowly.

“Green’s a nice color, mine’s red.” Jack supplies without prompting.

“Okay.” Sam says slowly.

Jack smiles, “See, getting to know each other.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know, but it’s a start right? Just wait, we’re gonna be best friends.” Jack says and it sounds like a promise. 

\--

Day two is when the real work starts. Sam is ready this time. He’s been preparing for this since he was sent down last year. Even knowing what to expect, the work leaves him wrecked at the end of the day, exhausted and boneless. It was like this last year too, but so much worse, and everyday that Sam leaves the rink and doesn’t feel like immediately crawling into bed and dying feels like a small victory. In the darkness of their hotel room Jack continues to pepper Sam with questions, “what’s your favorite food,” “which team did you root for growing up,” “when did you decide it was hockey for you?”

Sam answers each questions, at first with simple short answers that slowly grew longer longer, going from “Pizza,” to “Flames, that was my dad’s team” to “It was always hockey, Max and Griffin were already talking about playing professionally and I wanted to do everything they did. What about you?”

Jack is quite for a second, “I mean always wanted it but like, it wasn’t really sure, you know, it wasn’t something I thought I could really have until the U-17 tournament in Quebec.”

“That late?” It sounds wrong, unbelievable that Jack, who told everyone who asked that he could be first overall didn’t think the NHL was possible when he was sixteen.

“Yeah, I mean I’d only ever played locally and I was good, I knew that but, I didn’t think I was good outside of New England, you know?”

It’s not the answer Sam expected. It’s not that Sam isn’t aware that his upbringing was somewhat unusual, that for a lot of people playing hockey for a living is a pipe dream not the family business. It’s just sometimes he forgets that means most people don’t consider it a real possibility, that most people, even people as good as Jack, are cautioned to have a backup, to not pin all their hopes on a dream almost no one gets to have. It’s a much more cautious assessment of his chances then Sam would have predicted from Jack before tonight. Sam wants to know more. He burns with the need to uncover all the small contradictions that make up Jack. It’s late though, and there are more pressing things to worry about, like the scrimmage tomorrow and making the team for real, and there will be time later to ask Jack all the half-formed questions floating in Sam’s mind. 

\--

The fourth day is the scrimmage. Sam is captain of the Yellow Team and Jack leads the Blue. It’s an almost comfortingly familiar to crouch down across the face-off dot from Jack, like Sam has so many times before. 

By the end of third period Jack looks absolutely gassed. His face is red and blotchy and he’s sucking down gatorade like he’s dying. He keeps going though. It’s pretty amazing to watch in it own way, the way he keeps coming back out, throwing himself into the game despite the way his legs seem to drag a step behind where he wants them. It’s not a totally fair game, Sam is flying. The sweat cools on his skin and the burn in his legs still feels far away as they skate up to the face off dot for hopefully the last time. Jack crouches down across from him still panting for air but he manages a smile.

“Last time.”

Sam knows better than to respond to talk at the dot. He knows better than to respond to Jack specifically. Jack knows what to say to throw Sam off. It’s not even shit talking, if it was just chirping, if Jack was being a dick Sam could shrug it off. No, Jack is nice. Jack leans down across from Sam and says nice things. Throws Sam every time. Nice is for off-ice. He should just ignore Jack. He knows that. He still looks up.

“After this I finally get you on my side of the ice.” 

Sam blinks. Jack wins the draw. 

\--

They celebrate the end of prospect camp by passing out half way through a movie with the rest of the boys. It’s been a good group, though they started pretty cliquey. The Europeans, NCAA, Junior, and AHL guys all at their own tables but over the course of just 4 days they’ve become pretty close. Jack had a lot to do with it. Sam likes to think he’s a good leader. He likes to think he can bring a team together, that he brought his team together last year pretty well. Jack might be better. Jack just has this way of drawing people in, of connecting with people and more, connecting people with each other. Everyone is friends with Jack so they’re all friends with each other. 

Sam is one of the last ones awake, still riding out the win. It’s a pointless game all things said and done, but it’s still a win and more importantly Sam knows he’s proved he did everything Murray asked of him. He just has to hope it’s enough. Evan, one of the overage invites, might be the only other person in the room still fully conscious. They’re sitting on the floor sharing the last beer, because Evan is good guy like that and watching the end of Walking Dead in companionable silence. 

“So, you and Jack,” Evan starts and Sam’s heart stops. He’d thought he’d been good, kept the way he wanted to slide right back into old habits with Jack a secret. “You guys get along right?”

“Sure, I mean I guess we do.” Sam is a good at this, Sam can give the right answer. Just be cool, be normal. It’s like the interviews, be yourself, but not too much yourself. Evan can’t know.

“Good, good. I’m glad Jack will have a friend in Buffalo.”

“We might not be in Buffalo,” Sam says first, half an ingrained response to play at humble and half not wanting to jinx himself. “And I don’t think Jack has trouble making friends anyways.” he adds.

“No I guess not,” Evan concedes with a smile. “I’m still glad he’ll have someone.”

Eventually Evan falls asleep too, and it’s just Sam left awake with his thoughts. He isn’t sure what time it is that Jack half asleep crawls over to him and drops his head on Sam’s shoulder.

“What are you doing still awake?” he mumbles. 

“Are you nervous about Buffalo?” Sam asks instead of answering.

“Hmm, don’t worry Samson, I’ll take care of you.”

Sam smiles and pats Jack’s knee. “I’ll take care of you too.”

“Because we’re friends now,” Jack says into the curve of Sam’s shoulder. 

“Yeah,”

“And you like me.”

“Yeah.” Sam agrees, “I like you.”

\--

Less than a month later Sam is back in Buffalo and the roster has been cut in half. There are now twenty-three prospective teammates. They’re only in town for the weekend, a four day tournament pitting them against the best of Boston and New Jersey’s hopefuls. Coach doesn’t rattle the lines from camp much, just filling the holes where someone didn’t come back. Jack gets first line and Sam centers the second. They each head up their own PP unit as well so Sam never quite touches ice at the same time as Jack does throughout the first game. They crush the Devils. Jack gets a goal and two assists and Sam gets a few assists of his own but it’s Evan that everyone will remember from that game.

Evan is the one that makes the biggest impression after the game too, at least for Sam. It’s good atmosphere after a win, always is. Guys are humming with left over energy and the sweet taste of victory. On the other side of the room Jack is running his mouth and Brendan is nodding along excitedly and Hudson is wrestling with Jason across from Sam. Justin sits next to him and knocks his shoulder, “We really showed those fags, eh?”

Sam doesn’t even blink, just grins back ready to respond in kind, the word already forming in his throat when Evan cuts in.

“Don’t use that word.”

“What?” Justin looks at Evan like he grew two heads. 

“Fag, don’t use it.” Everyone is looking at Evan now which is good, because Sam can’t breathe. The word has lodged itself in Sam throat. He can’t get anything past it, can’t spit it out, can’t swallow it back down. He’s choking on it. 

Justin rolls his eyes, “Come on it’s not that big a deal, it’s not like anyone in here is gay.”

“Maybe, maybe not, but twenty three guys, someone has a gay uncle or sister or best friend. You don’t know, so don’t use words like that in here.”

Sam can’t move, can’t draw attention to himself, he can’t be noticed, can’t have anyone think on this moment and remember he was there. Across the locker room Jack is silent, staring at the floor, knuckles white. He’s still shit at hiding. And it hits Sam, Evan knows. Evan isn’t doing this for someone’s hypothetical gay cousin. Evan is doing this for Jack. Sam needs this to be over, needs to get away and he can’t move and he can’t breathe.

“Whatever,” Justin says. 

“We should have a pool party at the hotel!” Brendan interjects in a clear attempt to break the tension, but everyone grabs onto it and in no time plans are being drawn and Sam can finally slip away. He calmly makes his way to the bathroom, to the stall all the way in the back. He’s shrinking down, his skin tightening, his bones curling inwards, and the word still stuck in this throat is getting bigger and bigger as his throat shrinks around it. He shrinks down and down until he is fifteen again and it’s his first day with Kootenay Ice and Tristen throws his helmet into his stall and says, “Bunch of fucking fags,” and Sam has this hope, this stupid, stupid dream that Max will say something, without Sam asking for it, he’ll just know and he’ll say, “Hey not cool.” He doesn’t. Max throws a ball of old stick tape at Tristan and says, “You’re a fag.”

Sam swallows the word down, pushes it back inside himself, and walks back to the locker room.

\--

They’re too cocky going against the Bruins. Thinking it will be easy again. 45 minutes into the game scoreless and down two they know how wrong they were to think that. It’s desperation that drives coach to it, moving Sam to Jack’s wing. Sam would like to say they click immediately, but that’s not quite right. They’re line isn’t even the first to score. Vaclav breaks the shutout with an assist from David. Eichel gets the next goal, assisted by Neilson, and the one after to win OT, unassisted. On paper combining them didn’t do much, but paper isn’t the whole story. There was something there. It wasn’t fully formed yet, but they could be really good together. They complimented each other, their strength covered the other’s weaknesses, allowed them to do more than they could separately. With time the dropped passes and misread cues would be smoothed over. It wasn’t instant chemistry but Sam never believed in instant chemistry anyways. 

\--

Sam, Jack, and Evan all make it to training camp, one step closer to the Sabres roster. Sam is vaguely familiar with the guys from last year, but there’s been a lot of turn over and he feels closer to the other new guys then to the vets. It’s still early enough in the process, just a few days in that no one is really integrating yet. Sam is across the room, not paying attention to whatever Webs and Risto are talking about, but he catches the end.

“God that’s so gay,” Webs says, affectionately rubbing Risto’s hair. Sam can see Jack holding Evan’s arm. Evan’s lips pressed together like he wants to say something and Jack just stares at him. They aren’t saying anything but it’s pretty easy to guess the silent war. It’s a risk to take a stand for something in a room of other rookies, where everyone is on equalish footing and Evan at least has the authority of age on most of them. Webs has been on the Sabres for years. It’s risking a lot more. It’s risking getting the label ‘difficult’ and a one way ticket to spending a career bouncing around the minor leagues. Evan doesn’t deserve that. It’s enough just to know he would. Sam would rather have him silent and here. That’s enough. Knowing Sam isn’t alone, that there’s at least one person who wouldn’t mind too much if they ever found out about him, it’s more than enough. The rest of the rookies are staring at Evan too, everyone waiting to see what he’d do. 

Gio smacks Webs shoulder, and Webs sighs and shakes his head. 

“Right, right, sorry Mouls,” he calls across the locker room. 

“Just don’t do it again,” Mouls calls back.

And that it. No arguments and he doesn’t do it again. A couple other guys drop a “that’s gay” or “what a fag” now and then but someone Gio or Mouls or Enzo or Figs will hit them and they’ll stop and by the time Sam is suiting up for the first preseason game he doesn’t hear it anymore.

\--

Sam pulls on the Buffalo Sabres jersey with his name across the back, over his father’s number, for his second opening night. Outside he can hear the murmur of the gathering crowd. It’s time to prove himself, again. There’s a little more pressure, a sense of do or die, prove he wasn’t a bust. Beside him Jack is uncharacteristically quiet. Sam’s gotten used to Jack’s constant conversation through the preseason. Jack doesn’t usually expect Sam to talk back, he just wants someone who will nod along. It’s become part of Sam’s pregame: put on his gear, tape his stick, listen to Jack chatter on about nothing. Tonight though, Jack is quiet, retaping his stick for the third time. 

“Hey,” Sam says.

Jack looks over at Sam.

“We’ve got this.” Sam holds out his fist and after a second Jack knocks his own fist against it. 

“Yeah, we’re golden.”

Jack seems to relax after that, filling the time between getting dressed and stepping on to the ice with a story about Hanny getting locked out of the hotel in Toronto. Sam nods in the right places, laughs at Jack’s bad imitations of the hotel staff and his coach. He lets Jack’s enthusiasm for storytelling distract him from the tense waiting until Bylsma steps into the room to give them the opening line-up. Everything rushes by after that and the next thing Sam knows he’s skating off the ice three ish hours later, pointless, but that’s ok. He did ok. He kept up, he had a few good looks even if nothing came of it. 

Jack though was the star of the hour, scoring the only goal for their side. It’s a good start. Sam can’t help but think it feels like a sign. They still lost which if Sam think to hard about it might also be sign, and this is why Sam doesn’t let himself get too caught up in ritual and superstition, eventually everything starts looking like sign. 

Afterwards the whole team goes out to celebrate opening night. It’s a tradition, Enzo explains to Sam on the ride over. They don’t have a lot to celebrate right now, but opening night and everyone being back together, they can always celebrate that. Sam remembers from last year, but he let’s Enzo explain it to him anyways. He might wrong, reading too much into things, but the team is pretty different from the one he was with last year. There’s been a lot of changes, a lot of people leaving and Sam might feel pretty secure in staying with the organization but Enzo probably doesn’t. He’s the last one of his rookie season still on the roster and Sam can't even imagine that. If he wants to make sure Sam understands how important this tradition is to the team in case he too gets traded, Sam can listen. 

They get a big table and Sam and Jack politely order sodas and Bogo buys a round of shots and two of them land in front Sam. It’s hardly enough to get them drunk but after the game and maybe not eating as much as he should have before playing Sam starts to feel fuzzy near end of his drink, not drunk fuzzy exactly, just slow and syrupy. He can’t quite keep up with the buzz of conversation but that’s okay, it’s still nice, it’s warm and friendly and good. Sam think it’s going to be a good year, even they still lose a lot, it’ll still be good to lose with this group.

Next to him Figs laughs, “I think we’re losing the rookies.”

Matt laughs too and when Sam looks over he sees Jack leaning on the table droopy eyed.

“I’ll take them home. I’ve left Alicia alone with the little monsters long enough.”

“Do you know where Reino’s staying?” Someone asks. 

“Tonight he’s staying on my couch.” Matt says, a hand on Sam’s shoulder guiding him out of the restaurant, Jack trailing after them.

\--

The couch is actually pretty comfortable. It’s wide and deep. Matt brings him a pillow and some blankets and Sam is asleep almost as soon as he lies down. He wakes up to Georgy climbing on top of him. 

“Hi,” Georgy says, perched on Sam’s stomach.

“Hey,” Sam’s is raspy from sleep. 

“Are you one of Daddy’s friends?”

“Yeah,” Sam nods scutching up a bit so he’s sitting against armrest. Georgy doesn’t move off him just goes along for the ride. “I play with your dad now.”

“Did you have too much fun?” Georgy asks very seriously.

“What?” Sam asks trying not to laugh.

“Sometimes Uncle Jon and Aunt Jackie sleep on the couch because they had too much fun. Did you have too much fun?”

“No,” Sam shakes his head. “I had just the right amount of fun, but your daddy doesn’t know where I live so he let me stay here last night.”

Georgy considers Sam’s answer carefully, “Okay. Are you staying for breakfast?”

“I, uh, I don’t know.”

“We’re having fruity pebbles, except Daddy, he has to eat eggs every day,” Georgy explains. “You’re gonna eat Fruity Pebbles with me though.”

“I can’t, I have to eat eggs every day too,” Sam says scrunching his nose in exaggerated distaste.

“Oh,” Georgy’s shoulders slump.

“How about this, you sneak me some pebbles but you can’t let anyone see, it’s got to be our secret ok?” Sam suggest before realizing he’d just invited himself to stay for breakfasts. 

Georgy perks up, “Okay!”

He crawls off of Sam and tugging on his hand leads Sam into the kitchen where Alicia is sipping on a big cup of coffee as she and Mila look over a piece of paper. 

“Oh, Sam, I’m sorry I forgot you were here. Georgy didn’t wake you did he?”

Sam shakes his head, “It’s fine.”

“There’s coffee if you like,” she says gesturing to a large pot. 

“Thanks,” Sam says picking up a plain blue mug hanging from a wire tree next to the coffee pot. 

“Sam needs eggs like Daddy.”

“Ok, sweetie,” Alicia says.

“You don’t have to make me anything.” Sam protests. 

“Don’t be silly, I’m making eggs for Matt and Jack anyways.” Alicia waves off his protests. “Speaking of,” she glances at the clock over the stove, “Georgy, want to go wake Daddy up?”

Georgy smiles so wide Sam can see all his teeth before he runs off. 

Alicia shakes her head fondly and pulls a carton of eggs out of the fridge. “How many eggs do you need, Sam?” 

“Three, please.”

Matt walks into the kitchen, carrying Georgy by his feet. “Morning my love,” he leans over to kiss Alicia lightly on the lips.

“Daddy! Ewwwww,” Georgy giggles. 

“What’s that?” Matt says swinging Georgy back and forth lightly.

“Nooooooo!” Georgy yells while he giggles.

“Ready to go down?” Matt asks.

“Noooo,”

“Well better get ready because I’m putting you down in three…two...one and a half...one and a quarter...and one.” Matt slowly lowers Georgy to the floor. 

“My turn!” Mila scrambles off the chair and over to the two of them. 

“Alright,” Matt says sweeping her up into this arms and turning her over so she’s hanging upside down. “Morning Sam, did you sleep alright?” Matt asks swaying Mila back and forth.

“Yes, thank you.”

“It’s no problem, you’re welcome here anytime,” Matt says. “Ok, Milly I’m putting you down, ready?”

Mila nods and holds her hand down and Matt slowly lowers her to the ground. Alicia hands him a cup of coffee and he smiles gratefully at her. “I love you.”

“I know. Set up the kids’ cereal, I’m almost done with the eggs.” Alicia smiles kissing Matt’s cheek. “Sam, do you mind checking that Jack’s up?”

“Oh sure.” Sam agrees almost relieved to slip out of the kitchen so overflowing with warmth. He’d felt intrusive, spying on their happy morning rituals and maybe a little homesick. It feels like forever since his family has all been home at the same time. He misses it, everyone in the kitchen, getting coffee and fighting over the last spoon of sugar. 

Jack is still asleep. His room looks new, still a guest bedroom and not really Jack’s yet, his stuff spilling over the edges boxes and suitcases and onto the floor. There’s a mountain of pillows next to the bed and Jack shirtless and sprawled out. It’s not like Sam has never seen Jack like this. They’ve shared a room for all the away pregames but there’s something about the light or the way the bed is so big and inviting or the dark green sheet curving over Jack’s pale chest and Sam--isn’t doing that anymore. Sam isn’t thinking like that anymore, not about Jack--about anyone, but definitely not Jack. 

Sam grabs a ball of socks from the bag near him and tosses at Jack. Jack blinks and pushes himself up onto an elbow, blurry-eyed.

“Breakfast,” Sam announces and turns right around to walk back to the kitchen. Jack follows faster than Sam would like, catching up right outside the kitchen, pajama pants dragging on the floor. 

“Just in time,” Alicia says putting down three big plates of eggs. 

“JACK!” Georgy shouts running over and grabbing Jack’s hand and pulling him over to the chair next to him. His promise of sneaking Sam fruity pebbles forgotten. 

“Hey, Georgy,” Jack mumbles letting Georgy drag him to his seat. Georgy distracts Jack through most of breakfast and Sam takes the time to get over whatever had snuck up on him earlier. 

After breakfast Jack drives Sam back to the hotel near the arena. He talked to his dad about maybe getting an apartment in Buffalo, but still so early and Sam doesn’t really feel confident that he isn’t going to end up in Rochester. He’s not built like Jack and he doesn’t have the experience of playing with grown men like Jack does. Rochester is a very real possibility, it might even be necessary for his development. He doesn’t want to go down. He wants this, he wants it so bad, has wanted it for so long and he needs to work hard to keep it. He needs to remember that Rochester is right there, waiting for him if he slips up. He needs to remember his place is not secure. 

Jack thinks he’s being ridiculous when he explains why he has to stay at the hotel. Every time he stares at the numbers 407 on his room door he remembers nothing is carved in stone and there are 20 guys a little over an hour away that would love to take his spot. Jack rolls his eyes. “You can’t think like that Sam. You can’t go out there thinking you don’t belong here or you won’t.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Sam tries to explain how it’s not about thinking he’s not good enough but not getting complacent, but Jack just frowns and tells Sam he’s the best prospect Buffalo has and Sam drops it before Jack calls bad luck down on him. 

\--

Each game that passes without a point feels like a step closer to Rochester, to Sam not being good enough, again. Sam can’t get anything going. It’s off posts or an inch too wide or high on every shot. He rests his head against the numbers on his door. Maybe Jack was right. Maybe Sam is holding himself back thinking a hotel will be easier if he goes down. Maybe Sam should have thrown everything in on staying. He didn’t commit himself to Buffalo and now Buffalo is rejecting him. Okay that’s stupid, Sam knows that stupid. Luck is just luck, it doesn’t come or go with any rhyme or reason and if he’s not getting any luck from the universe he has to make his own. 

He still hasn’t scored by the time they start their first road trip. When Sam steps on the plane he can’t shake the feeling that he isn’t coming back. 

He rooms with Jack again. It’s a little different stopping in for a night instead of settling down for a week but Sam still knows Jack’s habits. 

They aren’t so tired as they were during the camps when the point was to see how much they could take, how much they had to give. Now that the long grind of the season is underway the goal is not to wear them out too early. They get arrive in Sunrise too early to just go to sleep and too late to go out so they end up just watching TV in the hotel room, flipping through the onDemand movies and arguing over whether or not Armageddon is a classic or not. They end up watching it, so Jack can prove his point that it’s terrible, since Sam has refused to budge on his point that the Russian cosmonaut more than makes up for the entirety of the plot. 

“I thought you would love this movie,” Sam points out halfway through, I mean I think they managed to stick an American flag in every scene, don’t you Americans love that?”

“Well then, I guess the movie isn’t so bad.” Jack surrenders. “Plus Ben Affleck used to be super hot.”

Sam is taken aback for second at the casualness, the ease with which Jack talks about men being attractive. Sam’s never done that. He’s thought it of course, Ben Affleck’s face is not completely unrelated to his enjoyment of this film. He just had to make sure he never mentioned that aspect to anyone who asked. He can here. Alone in this room with Jack, he can talk about guys he finds attractive. “Yeah, I was always super jealous of Liv Taylor.”

“Right, I’d kill to eat animals crackers with him.” Jack says.

Sam nods in agreement. “The blonde guy is pretty cute too,” he adds, testing out this new freedom.

\--

They lose in Sunrise and before Sam can start to dwell on his continued failure to produce they’re on a plane to Tampa. It’s only an hour before they’re touching down and being shuttled to the hotel. It’s always taken Sam a little while to come down from travel so even though it’s nearly one in the morning he’s not ready to just turnout the lights and sleep so they continue their Michael Bay marathon with Bad Boys. 

Coach switch upthe lines at practice and Sam ends up on Enzo’s line. They have a meeting first going through the strategies and Sam nods along with everything Enzo and O'Reilly say until Enzo kicks him lightly, “You know you are allowed to talk too.”

Sam nods, silently, which gets a laugh from O'Reilly.

“What do you think of the play?” Enzo presses holding the board out to Sam. 

“It’s good?” Sam asks more then states.

“But?” This time it’s O’Reilly asking.

“My shot is better from this angle,” Sam offers moving his circle to the right.

“That’s a long pass,” Enzo says to O’Reilly.

“”Yeah, but if I set myself up over here instead…” O'Reilly takes the board and moves his circle up a little, “and you stay there for the rebound.”

“Yeah, that should work,” Enzo agrees looking up at Sam and giving him nod. 

It does, _they_ work. Most of it is that Enzo and O’Reilly are so good, you can’t help but be good with them. Enzo gets the puck behind the net and flips it up, right onto Sam stick and it’s in the net. The next thing Sam knows Enzo’s got his arms around Sam, pulling him down to press their helmets together.

“Knew you could do it.”

Sam can’t speak, can’t do anything but smile and nod. O’Reilly wraps an arm around his shoulder and squeezes. “Go get your high-fives” he says, pushing Sam lightly towards the bench. 

They don’t score again and Tampa takes the game. Sam is disappointed but not enough to stop smiling, to stop running his hands over the edge of the puck Enzo had handed to him in the locker room, thick black marker over the white tape reading _Rieno’s first NHL goal._

They go out, the whole team, or at least most of it. They find a club that doesn’t card and the team keeps buying Sam shots until the world is a dizzying swirl of people. He calls Griffin from outside the club. 

“I did it.”

“I saw,” Griffin says. “It was nice goal.”

“It was.” Sam agrees and Griffin laughs at him.

“You think you can find a Buffalo fan in Florida to help you celebrate.” Griffin jokes and Sam’s mind goes right to Jack, to kissing Jack in Sochi and Toronto, to Jack in his hotel room.

“Maybe.”

“Well what are you doing talking to me, go get your girl.” Griffin laughs. Normally that would put stop to Sam’s thoughts. He forgets sometimes if it hasn’t come up in a while that what he wants isn’t just unacceptable, it’s unimaginable. Sam doesn’t think he could be that good at hiding, from teammates and the media maybe, but not from his brothers. They have a lot of theories for why he can’t get a girlfriend and none of them are he doesn’t want one. He doesn’t care this time, he got his first goal and Griffin is three thousand miles away and he can’t see the way Sam is looking at Jack across the street. 

“Yeah, I think I will.”

He wraps an arm around Jack, leans his whole body against Jack, feels the warmth of him. 

“Hey,” he says right next to Jack’s ear, close enough that his lips brush against the shell.

“Hi,” Jack turning towards him.

“Let’s go back to the hotel.” 

“Sure, let me get the boys.” Jack says stepping out of Sam’s arms. 

“No, just us.” Sam clarifies. 

Jack looks back at him, “I thought, what about being professionals?”

Sam doesn’t have an answer. Nothing is different, nothing has changed. He just wants and maybe that could be ok. He’s kissed Jack on four separate occasions now and the world didn’t end once. Sam is going to say something like that, admit he likes Jack, not just because Sam can be himself but just because he’s Jack and Sam would never be able to resist. 

Risto comes out of the club his arm around a girl with long blonde hair. He leans down and whispers something in her ear that causes her to giggle. Sam’s chest tightens. They could have been caught. He was standing with arm around Jack like that, whispering in his ear like that, just seconds ago. If Jack hadn’t pulled away…. He looks back to Jack then drops of eyes. Nothing’s changed. 

Jack sighs. “Hey, let’s head back. We haven’t seen Bad Boys II yet.”

“Yeah, that sounds good.” Sam nods. 

They get back to the hotel and Jack settles on Sam’s bed and pulls up the movie. Sam sits on the other side of the bed, careful to keep a good distance between them. It’s late already and things are kind of weird so they don’t talk as much as they usually do and night creeps up on Sam making his eyes heavy. He blinks and when his eyes open the sunlight is slipping through the blinds, a thin line across the foot of the bed arching over Jack’s ankle. Jack’s still in his bed. It’s fine. It’s fine. Sam’s shared a bed with teammates before and it’s not like they woke up entwined. Jack is one side and Sam on the other. It’s fine.

It’s becomes their thing on road trips. Every night they find a Michael Bay movie and sit on whichever bed has the best view of the TV and as the season wears on them they both begin falling asleep before the credits roll. They don’t cuddle, or wake up with legs tangled, or anything that could be misconstrued and Sam can almost pretend it’s all just friendly. He’d do this with anyone. 

They’re back in Tampa and winter has finally come south, fifty degree warmer than Buffalo but somehow more miserable, dreary and wet. So they stay in and start their movies. On the TV Megan Fox bends over in the shortest shorts the costume department could squeeze her into and Jack rolls his eyes.

“Come on, not even straight boys could possibly fall for this pandering.”

Sam shoves him lightly, “Like you don’t forget what you’re saying every time captain what's-his-face takes off his shirt.” 

Jack shoves him back, but doesn’t deny it and they settle back down. On screen Bumblebee destroys a building and Jack’s hand brushes against Sam’s. When Sam glances over Jack has shifted closer to Sam. He’s staring intently at the shitty exposition scene like’s it the most riveting drama in the world. Sam stays still, doesn’t shift away from the light pressure of Jack’s finger. The people on screen get back to the action and slowly Jack’s finger reaches out to hook over Sam’s. Sam isn’t sure either of them are breathing for a minute just staring at the TV until Sam turns his hand over and closes his fingers around Jack’s, out of the corner of his eye he can see Jack smile. 

Jack still falls asleep before they even get halfway through the movie. His slumps over slowly, first arms then shoulders pressing together and finally his head tips down onto Sam’s shoulder. He’s still holding Sam’s hand. The movie ends and the credits roll. The buzz in Sam’s arm has keeps him up until the screen clicks back to the menu screen. The room is quiet except for Jack’s breath fluttering across Sam’s collarbone. There is no way to this is just buddies, not that it ever really was. 

Sam slowly extracts his fingers, they can’t actually sleep like that, it would be really uncomfortable. Jack slips further down the pillows when Sam moves. He’s still in the middle of the bed and there isn’t really enough room for Sam to sleep too. He could go to the other bed. He _should_ go to the other bed, but he scoots down the mattress and lays his head on Jack’s chest. This close there is plenty of room for both of them. 

\--

Sam wakes up to the beeping of his alarm clock and Jack’s face two inches from his, staring intently.

Sam blinks.

“Boo,” Jack says.

“Ugh,” Sam smacks Jack’s chest and buries his face into the pillow while Jack starts cackling. 

“Come on, we have to get up.” Jack says, pulling the pillow away from Sam.

“Umggh,” is the best the Sam can manage as he tugs the pillow back, pulling Jack down with him. It’s early and he’s not thinking straight and that’s the excuse that he’ll use for wrapping his arms around Jack and rolling them over so he can press his face into Jack neck. It’s warm and soft and smells like soap and Sam is already drifting back to sleep. 

Jack runs his fingers through Sam’s hair. “Come on, we don’t want to be late.”

Sam sighs and rolls off of Jack. 

They’re almost ready to go, Sam is just shoving his shoes on when Jack speaks.

“Hey Sam, after the game today you should let me take you out, you know, on a date.”

Sam still knows he should say no. Nothing has changed. He has to keep reminding himself since he isn’t getting the usual daily reminder. Nothing has changed. He still can’t be who he is. He and Jack still have to be professionals. It doesn’t feel like that big a breach in the rules though. Maybe that’s just the relative safety of this trip and a city that doesn’t care about him. Maybe it’s Jack, acting like it’s not a big deal. Maybe he’ll regret this tomorrow when they go back to Buffalo, back where people know his name. Still, if he’s careful, and he can be careful, it might be okay. 

“Not out.” Sam replies. 

“What do you mean?” Jack asks.

“We can like date or whatever, but not out, not in public.”

Jack opens his mouth like he’s going to say something about that, but just shakes his head and grins. “Okay.”

It still feels like too big a risk, like anyone with half a brain that sees the two of them in the same room should be able to tell how Sam feels, but they haven’t. No one has and as long as everything stays behind locked doors they won’t.

“Okay.”

\---

They don’t get another minute alone until the plane lands back in Buffalo. Jack follows him home from the airport. He’s fidgety, bouncing on his toes and rocking onto his heels and tapping his fingers against the wall the whole elevator ride. Sam leans against the elevator wall perfectly collected. His hand doesn’t even twitch when he thinks about reaching out and holding Jack’s hands still. The doors slide open on Sam’s floor and Jack is practically running down the hall to Sam’s room. It’s not that Sam doesn’t want to get there just as eagerly but the look on Jack’s face well he waits as Sam leisurely strolls down the hall is worth the wait. Sam takes his time looking for his wallet, and then finding his key card in it. By the time he’s carefully lining up the card swipe Jack breaks. 

“Jesus Christ, just do it.” He says, swiping the card for Sam and shoving him through the now open door. Sam starts giggling, can’t keep his face straight any longer. 

“You are such a dick,” Jack complains. ‘I don’t know why I like you.”

“But you do.”

“Yeah.” Jack leans in, his hand sliding through the hair at the base of Sam’s skull. Sam stops laughing. Jack is so close, the curtains are closed the door is locked, and Jack is so so close. Sam pulls him down and they’re kissing. It’s perfect. It’s electric and tingly and Sam was an idiot to think he would really be able to just forget this. They would have always ended up back here, inevitable like gravity.

\--

They make new routines. Jack follows Sam home after practices and behind the locked door they learn each others body. Sam pretends that’s not the plan, ordering food and setting up a movie or video game while Jack rolls his eyes and pulls him down onto the bed as soon as Sam comes close enough. At first it was about keeping up the illusion that they were just friends, keeping the act going behind closed doors just to make sure no one would guess. Then it was because Jack thought he was being ridiculous and winding Jack up is fun. Being with Jack is fun. Whether it’s just the two of them in Sam’s room or out with the guys, Jack makes it fun. 

Sometimes when they’re lying in bed Jack will ask again, “Let me take you out. Promise I won’t even touch you until we’re back.”

Sam shakes his head. “We can’t.”

“Come on, what the worst that can happen?” 

“Um, they’ll figure out we’re gay.”

“So,” Jack snaps.

“So?” Sam sits up, “so they’ll tell everyone, they’ll tell my brothers.”

Jack sits up behind him. “Your brothers don’t know?”

“Of course they don’t know,” Sam answers, “what like you’ve told everyone?”

“Yeah, I have,” Jack answers. “I mean not _everyone_ everyone, but my family, my friends, they all know.”

“Oh,” Sam says, at lost of for words. He hadn’t even occurred to him that Jack could be out to his family. He still can’t exactly comprehend how.

“You know what, it’s fine, we’ll just stay in.” Jack says.

The season wears on and the Sabres lose more than they win. It’s a long rough stretch. Kane comes back and Enzo goes out. Jack is frustrated and O'Reilly keeps pushing everyone to stay later, work harder, but their slide down the standings doesn’t really stop and the year is only a few weeks from over. They have five days off leading into Christmas and then they play the day after. Gio’s advice is to take a real break, get out, go see family, forget about hockey for a little and when they come back it’ll be a fresh slate. 

Sam toys with the idea of going home for Christmas, but the flight from Vancouver to Buffalo or Boston, where their next game is, is 6 hours without connecting flights and the time difference adds another 3 making the whole trip a nine hour ordeal. Sam’s pretty sure he’ll play shitty hockey and it might be a little dumb but playing well in front of Boston, helping Jack play well in front of his family and friends, it’s important enough that Sam would rather not spend 9 hours on a plane the day before. 

Max has a game two days before Christmas and one the day after so he’s staying in Milwaukee. When Sam mentions he isn’t sure about going home because of the distance Max tells him to come spend Christmas with him instead. It’s only a little over an hour on the plane. 

Jack invites him to Boston, with this hopeful smile. Sam can see it, going home with Jack, holding his hand while Jack introduces him to his grandparents with that big smile looking at Sam like he’s the most important thing in the world. It’s a really nice picture and Sam wishes the boy next to Jack was him. It isn’t. Sam still won’t let Jack tell anyone about them, even if he did go home with Jack it would only be as a teammate with no one to spend the holidays with. He declines, watches Jack face fall like he didn’t know it was coming. 

He tells Max he’s coming that night.

He gets in on the 22nd and Max meets him at him at the airport with his girlfriend. Sam has met Naomi a few times before but he is always a little taken back by how pretty she is, long brown hair like a silk curtain around her small face. She always seems impossibly delicate, like one of those glass figurines instead of a real girl and Sam has this irrational fear that he’s going to be break her every time he hugs her. Of course he doesn’t and she squeezes back far too tight to be as fragile as she looks. She kisses Sam’s cheek as she pulls back.

“I’m so glad you came. Max has been talking about it non-stop, I think he was a little sad that he wasn’t going to be seeing any of you guys this year.” She confides throwing a knowing smile at Max. 

Max rolls his eyes and pulls her under an arm, his big biceps wrapping easily around her neck. “She’s a filthy liar, Sammy, don’t listen to a word.” He kisses the top of her head afterwards. They make their way down to the parking lot, Max’s arm still over Naomi’s shoulder and her fingers hooked in one of his belt loops. 

Their apartment is in Lindsay Heights, it’s small, just one bedroom, a little kitchen and a living room, but the walls are a pale blue that makes it feel a little roomier and the ceilings are high which helps too. Through the living room window Sam can see the distant glimmer of the river between buildings. They’ve decorated for Christmas, with twinkling lights around the windows and a small plastic Christmas tree sitting on the coffee table and on the floor underneath are the beginnings of a pile of presents. It’s perfect, lovely and warm and lived in and Naomi and Max look so happy together and Sam is suddenly really really happy he came. He missed Max, he misses his parents and Griffin, and his dog, but especially Max. Griffin is Sam’s compatriot, his best friend, but Max has always been his protector, the one Sam looked up to, the one who had all the answers and was always there for Sam. Sam wants to crawl into his bed like he did when he was 5 and scared of the monsters hiding in the dark corners of the room. These days it feels like there’s a monster in Sam’s head, it’s ravenous and sick with jealousy and desire and most of all fear and Sam just wants to be five again and have Max give him a hug and tell him there is nothing to worry about, monsters don’t exist. Sam doesn’t need to be afraid. 

“Do you like Indian food, Sam?” Naomi asks bringing out a handful of take-out menus.

“Yeah, sounds good.” Sam says dropping his bag next to the couch. 

“Great, me and Max love this place. They have the best chicken tikka, you have to try it.”

“Sure, get me that.” Sam nods and Naomi wanders off with the menu and the phone.

Max pulls him down onto the coach, and fires up the x-box. 

“So, how’s Buffalo? They treating you good?”

“Yeah, it’s good. The team is,” Sam pauses unsure how to say that they don’t remind him that he wouldn’t be wanted if they knew what he was all the time like all the other teams he’s been on. He ends up just saying “good. I like it.”

“Even Eichel? He kind of stole your thunder there.”

Sam shrugs, “It was going to be him or Davo, and I think, I think I’m happy it’s Jack. He’s good, he’s a lot of fun. I, I really like him.” He glances over at Max after that, suddenly worried he’s said too much, given it away exactly _how_ he likes Jack, but Max doesn’t even glance over. 

“Cool.”

“Yeah.” Sam says playing with the controller, “well, come on, what game I am going to kick your ass at?”

The day before Christmas Max asks Sam to run some errands with him. They go to the mall and Max keeps rubbing his hand on the back of neck the whole drive, a habit Sam recognizes from when they were in Juniors in the hours before a big game. It means Max is nervous and Sam has no idea what he could so worried about. There is a brief panicky moment where Sam thinks, against all probability, that somehow Max has figured out about him while Sam has been sleeping on his couch. They pull into the parking lot and Max takes a deep breathe when he turns off the car. 

“You like Naomi, right?”

Sam has no idea where this is coming from, tries to think back and remember if he’s done anything to imply otherwise. “Yeah, she’s great.” 

Max nods and relaxes a little. “Good, good. I, um, I wanted to make sure, I guess, you're opinion means a lot to me, Sammy.” 

“Okay?” Sam’s still a bit confused to the point of this conversation.

“I’m going to ask her to marry me,” Max say, a huge sappy grin spreading over his face.

“Oh.” The conversation clicks into place. “That’s great,” Sam smiles back him. 

“Help me pick out a ring?” Max ask, opening the car door.

Sam falls into step beside him, the giddy nervous excitement radiating off Max is infectious and Sam is almost bouncing with it by the time they get to the jewelry square in the mall. Max goes for the smaller sets, the ones that mostly solid bands with small stones inset. They’re understated and classy and Sam can see them being the kind of thing Naomi would like. Max and the dealer get into the specifics of ring insets and diamond cuts and Sam sort of drifts away. There are these huge ugly-ass rings with so many diamonds they look the monopoly man threw up on them. They’re hideous, and Sam can’t help but think they would be exactly the sort of ring Jack would fucking love. He doesn’t notice Max come over and swing an arm over Sam’s shoulder. 

“Thinking about asking a girl yourself.” 

It’s like being dunked in cold water. “Don’t be stupid.” 

“One day, Sammy, you’re going to meet a girl you’ll actually want to introduce us too.”

Sam nods, in theory it might happen. There could be, somewhere out there, a girl whose company he likes enough to ignore the things he really want. It’s not very likely, but Sam has gotten used to living in this place of not quite lies, of theoretical possibilities. 

On Christmas Eve they go to one of Max’s teammates house for a party and Sam drinks a little too much too fast and ends up propped up against Max on the couch while Die Hard plays on the giant TV. Max has the ring box out, running his thumb over the soft velvet and watching Naomi as she moves through the room. Sam watches him watching her. Sam doesn’t even remember starting to speak but the words are coming out, “What if there was someone, that I liked enough to bring home, but I didn’t think you would approve?”

Max looks down at Sam with a frown. “Why wouldn’t we approve? She isn’t like a lot older or, younger--Sammy you have to be careful I know fifteen doesn’t seem that young to you now but--”

“What, no,” Sam shakes his head. “Nothing like that--you know nevermind. It’s stupid.” Sam stands unsteadily, he needs to get out. He forgot. They don’t remind him often enough in Buffalo and he forgot, it’s easier for his family to imagine he’s a pedophile than gay.

Max rests a steadying hand on his side and takes his hand. “Hey, it’s ok. Whatever it is, if you like her that much, I’m sure we’ll love her too.”

“It’s doesn’t matter, it’s just a fling.” Sam extracts himself and finds the bathroom.

\--

He flies back to Buffalo on Christmas Day. He wants to call Jack. He wants to bury them under covers and pretend the world doesn’t exist and they can have a future together and one day Sam could go pick out a ring with his brother. But Jack is still Boston, and Sam won’t see him until they meet up at T-Gardens before the game. It’s better that way. He has to break up with Jack. Now before he can’t bring himself to. He knew that nothing had changed. He knew, he just forgot. Well, he remembers now. He can’t be in this world and be gay. He had to pick and he did. He wants to play hockey, he’s always wanted to play hockey, just like his dad. He wants to make his dad proud. He wants to keep being the kid his parents wanted. He just has to make the choice to be that person, no matter what it costs. Sam plans to spend the night sulking. He’s thinks he deserves to hide in his room and feel like shit for just one night but Enzo ruins his plans. He shows up a little before five and drags Sam to Mouls’ annual Christmas dinner. 

The house is full of people, most of the team and their wives and girlfriends and kids and extended family. It’s overwhelming. Sam really doesn’t want to be here. He finds an out of the way corner to be anti-social in and begins the process of quietly getting drunk which works until Gio finds him. 

“Oh Sam, thank god, can you just hold James for second.” He says practically shoving the crying toddler into Sam’s arms. James responds by raising his sobs to the kind of volume only a scared three year old can muster. Gio scoops up his daughter who has been holding her arm and quietly sniffling behind him. 

“Hey, there Lehleh, let’s see that arm.” He says.

Sam awkwardly rubs James’ back and makes funny faces at him until he calms down. Gio sits down next to Sam once he’s deemed the injury not that big a deal. Leah wanders off to play with the other kids again. 

“Thanks man,” Gio says. 

“No problem,” Sam shrugs. “James was just worried about his sister right?” Sam directs the question to James.

“I can go play again now?” James asks him instead of answering. 

Sam looks at Gio.

“Yeah buddy, be good,” Gio says.

James nods and Sam lowers him down to the floor so he can toddle off.

“You know, you’re really good with kids. You think you’ll want some of your own someday?”

Sam hasn’t really thought about it. Kids were just part of the package, part of the ‘right’ future, the wife and kids future. It’s the future he’s supposed to choose. That he will choose, eventually. He just never thought about them separately, a thing he might want or not want on their own merit. He doesn’t actually know. Having kids felt like an part of an obligation, one of the things he’s supposed to check off to show he’s a good hetrosexual son. Georgy and Milly are so cute though. He could have that, maybe kids could make the whole wife thing worth it. Either way he doesn’t have to choose now. Kids, and thus a wife is a someday thing, like Gio said. He has time. He suddenly really wants to be with Jack. He wants to feel the electric high of wanting the person he’s with as much as possible before he has to settle down. 

“Yeah, someday.”

\--

They leave for Boston early and meet Jack at the rink. All Sam wants to do is drag Jack into a fucking closet and kiss him until his lips hurt. He can’t, of course, they are at practice. He has to wait until they’re heading back to the hotel for a few hours before the game. As soon as the door clicks closed Sam is pulling Jack to him, biting at his lips and pulling him back towards the bed. 

“Guess you missed me?” Jack grins, pushing Sam’s shirt up. 

Sam doesn’t say anything, just kisses him harder.

“Yeah, I missed you too.” Jack scoots up the bed pulling Sam on top of him. He’s hands caress over Sam’s hip and up his back as Sam kisses down his chest. Each press of his lips against Jack’s skin soothes something that’s been building in chest until he reaches his destination.

“Sam, dude, say something,” Jack whines. The first words that Sam thinks are _I love you_ and presses his lips closed over them. He shakes his head and takes Jack into his mouth instead. 

“Sam,” Jack gasp, “oh fuck, ok, nevermind don’t talk, don’t ever talk if you just keep, yeah.”

Sam complies, slides his lips down and presses his tongue against the underside of Jack’s cock. Jack’s finger tangle in his hair, pulling lightly while he babbles about how good Sam feels, how much he loves Sam’s mouth. Sam lets the words wash over him, lets them fill up the empty places in him. He curls his hands over Jack’s hips, slides them down over his thighs, holding them down and swallowing as Jack comes in his mouth.

“Sam, Sam,” Jack pulls on him, dragging him up and kissing him. He wraps an arm across Sam’s back and flips them over so Sam is the one on his back. Jack starts moving down but Sam pulls him back.

“Come on, come on, let me,” Jack implores.

“No, just, just kiss me, please, I want, just kiss me.” Sam begs pulling Jack towards him.

“Yeah, yeah, anything, anything Sam,” Jack promises, his hand curling around Sam’s cock, “just like this, okay.” Jack whispers into Sam’s mouth, kissing him until Sam gasping his way through orgasm. He stays like that for a minute, foreheads pressed together.

“I really did miss you,” Jack says before rolling off. 

Sam turns towards him, “I missed you too.” 

Jack starts plays with Sam’s hair as they lie next to each to each other. Sam’s noticed he does that when he wants to ask something, he thinks Sam will say to no to. Sam’s so tired of saying no. 

“Hey Sam?” Jack finally starts.

“Yeah?” Sam presses a kiss to Jack’s shoulder.

“Will you come to dinner with my parents tonight?” Jack asks, looking at the twists of Sam’s hair in his fingers. Just once Sam wants to be able to give Jack what asks for. 

“Okay.” 

“Really?” Jack asks, propping himself up on his elbows dislodging Sam from his chest. 

“Yeah,” Sam smiles falling back on the bed and pulling Jack over him. 

\--

Jack lights up the game. It’s a stunning showing for his first hometown game. Somethings changed, the humming frustration that followed them the last month seems to be melting away as Jack glides across the ice. They win. It feels like forever since Sam could say that. They win and the high of a good game carries him through getting dressed and following Jack to where his parents are waiting. Sam has a moment when he sees Jack’s mother waving at them to think this was a bad idea but it’s too late to back out.

“Jack, honey, that was wonderful,” she says hugging him. 

“I messed up that pass in the third.” Jack replies and his mother rolls her eyes. 

“As long as you can see it, you can fix it,” his father says clapping a hand on Jack’s shoulder. 

“And you too Sam, you boys are amazing,” Mrs. Eichel says turning to Sam. 

“Thank you,” Sam replies.

“I’m glad you decided to come out with us tonight, Jack talks about you all time,” She says as they walk towards the exit. Sam has a terrified moment of thinking that Jack has giving him away but Mrs. Eichel continues with, “I’m so glad Jack has a friend like you. We worry about him.”

They go to an Italian restaurant near the stadium and Jack signs a bunch of autographs and Sam signs some too. Not as many, he’s doesn’t have the local draw. 

“So Sam,” Mr. Eichel says once the fans have dispersed. “Jack tells me your whole family is in hockey?”

“Yeah, it’s sort of the family business I guess.” Sam says.

“That’s a brother right?” Mrs. Eichel inquires.

“Two brothers,” Sam answers, “They’re in the AHL right now, but Griffin will probably be up soon, defenseman take longer to develop.”

“Three hockey players in one house, you guys must have been a lot for you mom to handle. I know Jack here was almost too much for me;.”

“We were pretty bad, but she could always just throw us outside until we wore ourselves out.” 

The dinner goes like that, polite questions about Sam’s family and growing up playing hockey. It’s nice and easy.

“So,” Mrs. Eichel says “have you met Jack’s boyfriend?”

“Uh…” Sam looks over at Jack who has his face covered.

“Oh my god, Mom.”

“What? You don’t tell us anything about him.”

“We just want to know if he’s good to you?” Mr. Eichel adds.

“Sam doesn’t know him, ok? No one knows him, he doesn’t want people to know and I would-I would never tell anyone he didn’t want me to.” Jack says that last part to Sam. Sam wants to kiss him right there. 

“He’s really lucky to have you, and when he’s ready you should introduce us,” Sam says and pushes a smile onto his face when he turns back to Mrs. Eichel. “And then I will tell you everything.”

“I guess I’ll have live with that.” She sighs and talk returns the safer ground. It doesn’t leave Sam’s mind though. The ease of Jack and his parents talking about boys and Sam’s failed attempt to bring the subject up to Max. He wants that he wants to be able to talk to him family, not to watch every word he says. He wants them to know him, all of him. 

They take cab back to the hotel, the bright lights of Boston slide by briefly illuminating the interior. Sam watches the colors light Jack faces as he looks out the window. It was such a nice night. Sam doesn’t want it to end yet. He reaches out and takes Jack’s hand. Jack looks over at him and smiles. Sam smiles back. Jack squeezes Sam’s hand and turns his head back to the window. They sit like that until the cab pulls up to their hotel and Sam has to let go. 

Their quiet in the elevator ride up to their room and quiet while they get ready for bed. It’s like a spell over them and Sam doesn’t want to break it, not yet. He holds off until their in bed, Jack warm against his back and the thought that’s been building in him all night, growing from a silly notion to this encompassing wish, bubbles in throat. 

“You can tell them.”

“Mm?” Jack makes a questioning noise behind him.

“You can tell your family about us. That we’re you know, together.”

The warmth at his back disappears and Jack is leaning over him.“Are you sure? You don’t have to. I wouldn’t--”

“I’m sure,” Sam says. 

Jack kisses him and Sam breathes him in, fills his lungs as full as they’ve ever been. 

\--

Things are good for less than a week, then Enzo gets hit. It’s not even a bad hit really, Sam seen people walk away from much worse. Enzo gets up slow though. He can’t finish the shift, can’t seem to keep his feet. The trainers escort him down the tunnel and he’s gone by intermission. There’s no timeline for return. It feels momentarily like all the good got used up in that one game. Coach shuffles things around and Sam ends up on Jack’s right. He’s been briefly on Jack’s line here and there throughout the year, but it was always a midgame type of decision. The first practice they have together as linemates feels as easy as breathing. The first game only confirms it. They’re perfect together. 

Sam feels a little bad that he’s happy as a direct result of Enzo’s losing his season. He can’t help it though everything is going well. Sam feels lighter than he has since he was drafted probably. He’s got that feeling of invincibility that he had back in Toronto and it’s carrying him through January. It makes Sam reckless, he knows it does but he doesn’t care. 

He goes home with Jack to play NHL 17 in the Moulson’s living room and after everyone’s gone to bed they make out on the couch, in the living room where anyone could walk in on them. Sam almost wants them to. He doesn’t actually want that, but he does want to be known the way Jack is with so many people. 

Sam gets the save the date card in February. It’s beautiful, pretty cursive script on a pristine white background.There’s a little gold floral design on the bottom. It looked like something he imagines his mother would approve of: traditional, classic, simple and clean. It isn’t like Sam is going to miss his brother’s wedding, so he drops the card in a drawer and forgets it. 

He barely ever thinks about it. 

There was one time after a win in Montreal, mind fuzzy with the pull of sleep, lingering beer, and orgasm and he’d looked over at Jack, already passed out, and briefly imagined asking him to be his date. A silly fantasy of sappy romantic music, suits, and slow dancing. And once when Jack was finger painting with Matt’s kids Sam thought that whatever save the date card Jack made would probably be very far from something Sam’s mom would approve of. Not that it matters because Sam and Jack aren’t going to get married. This thing they’re doing, it isn’t a forever thing. This is a stolen piece of time Sam is taking to be selfish. Ten years from now, when he’s married to a woman his parents would approve of, on some lonely empty night he’ll dust off the memory of being twenty and wildly, stupidly in love. 

\----

Sam finishes the year on a points streak, climbing the rookie standings. Not enough to put him close to Calder conversation but higher than he thought he’d be at the beginning of the season. They end the year with a win and Enzo skating in practice. A sign of good things to come. The whole team goes out to celebrate. Sam lets Jack drag him home, falls easily into Jack’s bed. Jack follows him, brushing his hair aside and looking down at Sam with a soft smile.

“We should get a place together next year, wouldn’t have to sneak around, everyone's expect us to go home together.”

Sam blames the endorphins and Jack for springing this on him when he’s not thinking clearly. He can see it though, getting a place with Jack. Waking up with him every morning. Going home with him every night. Fighting over whose turn it is to do dishes and having sex in kitchen. “Yeah, that’d be cool.”

\--

It’s after noon when they wake up, the sun is streaming through the window and Sam is going to have to walk out of Jack’s room with the whole household awake. Or he could climb out the window. He would have to punch out the screen but maybe no one would notice. That sounds like a solid plan. Sam is going to escape through the window. He will totally not be spotted running across the lawn in yesterday’s clothes. 

“Stop freaking out.” Jack pulls him back down.

“I’m not.”

“You are.” Jack sighs. “We’re going to leave through the door and eat with Matt like nothing is weird about you staying in my room and no one is going to think there is anything weird about it.”

“I know.”

Jack takes Sam's hand and twines their fingers together. “Or, or you could tell Matt. He’d be cool with it. I promise.”

He’s probably right. Sam’s like ninety percent sure that Mouls knows about Jack. It would be nice, to be known. Even if it’s just Mouls. 

“How do I tell him?” Sam whispers.

“Just let me hold your hand.” 

“It’s that simple?”

“If you want it to be.”

No one says anything when they come out. Mouls glances down at their joined hands and asks if Sam wants eggs. It’s like some dream. Jack kisses him on the cheek when they watch TV and no one stares and the only comment anyone has made about it is when Alicia says they look cute together when Jack falls asleep with his head on Sam’s lap. 

\--

Sam spends an extra few week in Buffalo, sleeping in Jack’s bed and eating breakfast with the Moulsons while he and Jack try to find a place for next year. They look at houses and apartments and when no one is around Jack leans over and kisses Sam. Sam knows it’s risky, that someone could walk back in and see them but he doesn’t stop Jack, he doesn’t want to pop this bubble they’re in.

It can’t last. They find a place almost right away. It’s a bit far from the rink, but it’s nice. It reminds Sam of Max’s apartment. High ceilings and light colored walls and Sam thinks he could make home out of it, with Jack. 

Jack puts his arms around Sam’s waist and rests his head on his shoulder. “You like it.”

“It’s nice.” Sam admits.

“It feels like the sort of place we stay in for a long time.”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees.

They sign the lease and Sam packs his bags and flies home. 

He’s the last of his brothers to make his way home.

Griffin is the one who comes to get him at the airport. He pulls Sam into a rough hug and Sam is so happy to be home. As reluctant as he was to leave the bubble of Buffalo he missed home, he missed his brothers and his parents. He’s just really really happy to be back.

Griffin warns about the wedding explosion on the drive home. “They changed the venue like three times because Mom and Naomi’s mom can’t decide on indoor outdoor, or beach or mountains and in the end they didn’t book anything in time so now it’s in our backyard. AND Mom wants to do like hand made table center whatevers so we’re all making these gay light bottle things.”

“Sounds crazy.” Sam says, ignoring the little stab, he’ll get used to it again. It’s the price he pays to be with his family. He made this choice. He wants to be with them. He loves them and they love him and as long as he keeps this one part hidden they always will. 

“And if you wondering, ‘well what do Naomi and Max the people actually getting married want’ the answer is who cares, this wedding is all about the moms.”

The house, as promised, is overflowing with wedding stuff. Max, Naomi, and the moms are sitting around the dining room table stuffing clear wine bottles with coiled christmas lights. 

“Run, before they put you to work.” Griffin whispers to him. 

They don’t put him right to work. They let him eat first and then he’s given a crate of wine bottles and pile of lights. 

“Welcome home,” Naomi smiles. 

“I hope you like the wedding because you and Griffin are getting the exact same decorations when it’s your turn.” His mother jokes, Sam hopes she’s joking at least.

“Don’t worry Mom, I’m getting married by Elvis in Las Vegas, no planning necessary.” Griffin reassures her.

“Don’t you dare, young man.” 

Sam curls his lights into his bottle and realizes he’s not getting married. That someday he kept promising himself was a lie. It was always a lie and he always sort of knew it was a lie. Naomi and Max smile softly across the table at each other and Sam can’t steal that kind of real marriage from some girl just to keep up appearances. He’s never going to be the good son who has a family and give his mom grandkids. Max and Griffin will though, and he’ll just be alone, at least as far as anyone knows. 

The next day he and Max start building the arbor. It turns out to be more assemble then construct thankfully. 

“Why didn’t you just buy it put together?” Sam asked after they take down the top pole that was actually one of the standing pillars.

“We thought we had,” Max says ruefully. 

“Ah,” Sam nods. “I think that goes over here.” 

Max brings the pole over to Sam, “So, we noticed you’re not bringing anyone.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure there isn’t anyone you wanted to invite?” Max asks. 

“Who would I invite?” 

“I thought maybe you might want to bring the girl you told me about.” Max says not at all as casually as he thinks he’s being.

Sam imagines the shocked faces of every elderly relative who has ever said anything about ‘those sort of people’ when he walks in with Jack on his arm. “I don’t think so.”

“What happened, you seemed like you really liked her?” Max probes.

“What do you mean, I barely said anything about that.” Sam tries to deflect.

“Yeah, but you never talk about your love life,” Max says. “So the fact that you mentioned her at all, I figured it must be pretty serious.”

Sam can’t exactly argue with that. 

“Maybe,” Sam pays careful attention to tightening of the last screw, “I also said you won’t approve.”

“I can’t if you won’t let me.” Max offers.

Sam should never have let Jack convince him to tell Mouls. He shouldn’t have spent so long in that bubble where everyone knew and no one cared and he didn’t have to carefully measure every word to make sure it didn’t give him away. It was addictive and he wants it again. He wants it here, with the people who matter most to him. He wants to take Max’s word. That he’d be ok with it. He wants it so much.

“Well, I can’t invite her because she doesn’t exist.”

“What do mean? Why did tell me about some girl if she wasn’t real.”

“I didn’t. I didn’t tell you about a girl.” Sam finally looks up facing Max for the first time since they started talking. “I told you there was somebody, I didn’t say anything about a girl.”

Max doesn’t say anything. He opens his mouth and closes it again. Sam can’t stay here waiting to find out he was right after all.

“I’m gonna take Mojo for a walk.” 

\--

Sam stays out as long as he can, wanders through the hiking trails until the sun is setting. He briefly considers crashing with one of his friends, making up some lie about escaping the wedding preparations. He has to go home eventually. If it’s terrible he leave again. He can fly back to Buffalo and move into his new apartment early. He can see if Jack will let him stay with him in Boston. He’ll be okay, he’ll be okay, he’ll be okay.

Griffin teases him about dodging his wedding duties and his mother fusses over him missing dinner. Max isn’t around. Sam doesn’t see him all evening. It’s late when hears the front door again, Mojo barking excitedly at the new comer. Sam can tell they’re heading to his room, as her yips get closer until they’re knocking on his door. It’s time to face the music.

“Yeah.”

Max comes in, letting the door close behind him and sitting at the foot of Sam’s bed. “So, like I was saying earlier we still have time to add someone if you want to bring that boy in Buffalo you told me about.”

Sam is not going to cry even as everything in him become unwound all at once. “Yeah?” he asks, to get confirmation that it’s real. That Max doesn’t hate him, that he’s okay at least enough to want Sam’s boyfriend at his wedding.

“Yeah, okay I’ll talk to caterer first thing tomorrow.”

“No, I mean, no I’m not going to invite him, I can’t, I mean what would I tell mom and dad?”

“Whatever you want,” Max answers. “I mean you don’t have to tell them anything, or we can, I don’t know.”

“Do you think, I mean, do you think they’d be okay with it? With me?” Sam bites his lip.

Max presses his lips together. “I don’t know,” he repeats. “We never talk about this kind of stuff.” 

“Yeah, I know.” Sam replies, with a weak smile. “Dad hates Pride.”

“Dad hates all parades, I think if he’d won the cup he’d have hated that parade too.”

“Yeah? You think it’s just, just the parade?” Sam wants desperately for Max to say yes.

“I don’t know.” Max admits. “I mean, are you sure? It’s not like a phase maybe?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Sam pulls his legs in.

“Sorry, I just, I wanted to check, you know if you might decide you’re not, you know, like that.”

“Gay?”

“Yeah.”

“I am. I’m gay.”

“Okay, sorry, it’s just, you’re not…”

“What?”

“You know,” Max flops his hand in an exaggerated limp wrist act.

“No, but I’ve done a lot of-” Sam sticks his tongue into his cheek so it looks like a dick.

Max laughs, “I did not need to know that.”

“I’m just saying, that more of a qualifier....”

“Sorry, I think I’m messing this all up.” Max says, “I just wanted to let you know, it’s okay, and I want to meet your boyfriend and it’s my wedding so if mom and dad don’t like it they don’t have to come.”

“It’s in their house,” Sam points out.

“Okay, that’s a good point,” Max concedes, “but still, think about it?”

“Okay.” Sam agrees and Max smiles as he leaves.

Sam doesn’t think about it. If he thinks about it he’ll come up with a million reasons why he shouldn’t. He just texts Jack, _Do you want to come to my brother’s wedding._

Jack calls him.

“For real, like as your plus one?”

“Kind of,” Sam bites his lip. “I told Max, about me and I’m gonna tell Griffin, I think” he adds in a rush and his all the adrenaline from the last hour crashing down on him at once. 

“Did it, I mean if you’re inviting me to his wedding I’m guessing it went well?” Jack asks carefully

“Yeah,” Sam nods even though Jack can’t see him. “I’m not telling my parents though,” Sam admits.

“Okay,” Jack says.

“So like if anyone asks you’re just my friend,” Sam explains. “Except Max, because Max knows and he wants to meet you as, you know, my boyfriend.”

“Okay.” Jack says again and Sam gets the feeling that he’s trying to be soothing, but it’s not really working.

“So, yeah, if you want to come, as my sort of plus one that would be nice?”

“I’ll be there.” 

\--

In the light of morning the prospect of telling Griffin dims. He wants to, he does, just everytime he thinks he might he backs out. There always a reason not to go through with it, a reason now is not the right time. Now will never be the right time and Sam knows it. There will always be a reason not to go through with it. Of course Griffin can’t remain blissfully ignorant to Sam suddenly acting weird around him. They steal away one night, just the two of them to get away from all the wedding crap. Sam thinks _tonight, I’ll do it tonight_ and as soon as they’ve stepped through the door of the bar changes his mind again. Instead he gets drunk. Maybe he can do it drunk. Maybe if he gets so drunk that he won’t remember how Griffin reacts he’ll be able to convince himself to do it. He doesn’t do it. In the end he just needs Griffin to sneak him into the house like they used when they were still underage. 

The bed groans when Griffin drops him on the bed and then throws himself next Sam. Sam grabs the pillow and presses the cool fabric against his flushed face.

“Sammmmm” Griffin says, poking Sam’s stomach. “Saammmm, SamSam.” He keeps poking at Sam until Sam smacks at his hand. 

“Fuck off.” 

“Finally,” Griffin says snatching the pillow away. “What’s wrong Sammy? You’ve been weird all week.”

“Nothing,” Sam says rolling away from Griffin. Griffin follows dropping an arm over Sam’s chest. 

“If you don’t tell me I’ll be forced to get Max, two against one, you won’t have a chance.” He threatens. It’s an empty threat. Max always picks Sam’s side and he will definitely pick Sam in this, probably.

“Nah-uh.’ Is Sam’s eloquent response. 

“Ah-huh,” Griffin responds with equal eloquence. “How about you tell me what’s wrong or I’ll just start guessing and you can tell me when I get it.”

“I’m not playing your stupid game.” Sam sloppily tries elbowing Griffin but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Is it that Max has chosen the hideous fuschia bowtie for the wedding?” Griffin starts guessing. “Are you worried about the new Star Wars? Does Eichel snore?”

Sam doesn’t mean to react to the mention of Jack but he stiffens and Griffin draped over his back feels it.

“It’s Eichel?” Griffin gets very serious suddenly and Sam is too drunk for this. He doesn’t respond just turns his face further into the bed.

“Did something happen? I thought, you seemed to get along but if, you know I got your back right? If I have to break his legs I will.” 

“Please, just drop it.” Sam whispers.

“...okay.” Griffin says, and curls his arm a little tighter around Sam. 

Sam wakes up early in the morning, queasy from the alcohol and the corner he’s backed himself into. Griffin won’t let it go, not for long so Sam either comes out or comes up with a really good lie. He can totally do that, he’s used to be good at lying, or good enough anyways. He’ll come up with something he thinks as he drifts back to sleep. When he finally makes it out of his bed he parks himself in the kitchen. Luckily for him everyone is busy with last minute wedding things and are more than happy to leave him quietly sipping coffee. One by one everyone leaves to pick something up for the wedding until it’s just him and Griffin in the empty house. 

Griffin sits down across the kitchen island. “So.”

“So?” Sam asks.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on with Eichel?” Griffin asks.

Sam has not come up with a good lie, he hasn’t even come up with a bad lie. He’s got nothing. 

“It’s nothing.” He tries even though he knows Griffin won’t accept it.

“Bullshit. Come on Sam, you know I’ll have your back.”

“Promise?” Sam asks.

“What?” Griffin blinks thrown by Sam’s request.

“Promise,” Sam asks again. “That you’ll stand by me no matter what. That there’s nothing I could do that would change that.”

“What could you possibly have done?” 

“Just promise, please.” Sam’s almost begging. It’s so stupid to ask this, because it’s an impossible promise and too easy to break but Sam suddenly desperately needs to hear it, to believe it.

“Yeah of course, I promise. Sam, what’s going on, I mean know there are rumors about Eichel--”

“There are? What kind of, what are people saying?”

“Just talk, it doesn’t, nothing substantial just I heard from a guy who heard from a guy that he’s got certain preferences.”

“Do they talk about me?”

“No, no, Sammy, no, no one thinks just cause you gotta share a room with the guy that you’re like that.”

“I am.”

“What?”

“Like that, with Jack, we’re like that, together.” Sam awkwardly expands. 

Griffin doesn’t say anything and the clock on the wall clicking the seconds by is suddenly deafeningly loud. 

“You promised,” Sam shakily reminds him.

“Right,” Griffin nods. “I have to pick something up for Max,” he says walking out the house. 

\--

The day of the wedding there isn’t a cloud in the sky. Sam and the whole party is up at the crack dawn setting up the backyard, putting out the chairs and tables and setting up the dance floor. Paper lanterns circle the yard and the stupid wine bottle lights they’ve been making for three weeks look perfect. Sam gets to slip away to pick Jack up and when he gets back the backyard had been transformed into a magical land of lights. 

After all that work the actual wedding goes by in a rush. It feels like no time pass from the moment Naomi steps out of the house to begin her walk down the aisle to cutting cake, to the older relatives filtering out as the hours turn closer and closer to midnight. 

Sam slips away with Jack to the side of the house where the lights can’t reach but the sappy wedding music still comes through. 

“What we doing?”

“I’m getting my wedding dance.” Sam says wrapping his arms around Jack’s neck.

Jack complies, circling his arms around Sam’s waist and swaying to the music. Sam rests his forehead against Jack’s and let’s everything be perfect for just a minute. Griffin still won’t talk to him but he heard that he threatened to break Jack’s knee caps if he hurt Sam, so Sam’s kind of hopeful that it’ll be okay, eventually. As Elvis sings about fools rushing in Sam thinks maybe in that world of some day he might have a wedding after all. 


End file.
